Melting
by Granger-Danger-62442
Summary: Cas is naked next to him. Dean only wishes he had enough functioning brain cells left to appreciate it.


this was written largely at 1:30am be gentle to me this was never intended to be any sort of quality

* * *

"Dean, stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the car. I want to get out."

Dean cranes his neck, shoots a baffled look into the rear view mirror.

"You want to what?"

"_Dean._"

The amount of whine the former angel has learned to work into his speech is literally astounding.

Jerking the wheel, Dean pulls the car onto the shoulder and puts it into park. Sam's head shoots up from where he'd been dozing against the glass. "Whuzzit?"

Dean ignores him in favor of turning around. "Alright, we're in the middle of nowhere, man, what gives?"

"We are not." Cas seems smug, the bastard. "Look over there."

Dean turns his head, but all he can make out among the eddies of snow that float by are a few triangular shapes that might be trees. Or bears. Or trees that are pretending to be bears. "I don't see anything."

Cas lets loose sigh #36- the one he reserves for Dean when he's being particularly stupid. The hunter generously ignores him.

"The _people_, Dean. They're going to jump into that lake."

"What?" And then he adds, for good measure, "What?" Because they're in the middle of what the local news dude had labeled, "One of the largest cold fronts of the decade," and what Dean had affectionately re-christened, "the biggest fucking snow storm he'd ever fucking seen." So Dean feels justified in his skepticism.

"No, Dean I think he's right." Damn it. Sam rubs his eyes, squinting towards the bear-trees. Tree-bears. Whatever. "I saw a sign about five miles back about a lake. Something about an annual 'polar plunge'."

The oldest Winchester is dumbfounded. "People do that? Seriously?"

"I guess so."

Dean turns around and squints at the man in the backseat suspiciously. "You wanna jump in a lake full of water in the middle of January? "

"Yes."

"For fun."

"For the _experience_."

"You're 100% serious right now, aren't you? Jesus." Dean scrubs a hand over his face. "Man, you're gonna freeze to death."

Cas meets his gaze, all traces of smugness wiped clean. In its place are the most conniving puppy eyes Dean's ever seen, and he grew up with _Sam_. "Please, Dean."

Well... shit.

xoxoxoxoxo

That's how Dean finds himself freezing his balls of on the side of a lake and wondering where his life went so wrong.

Cas is naked next to him. Dean only wishes he had enough functioning brain cells left to appreciate it.

Well, Cas is nearly naked next to him. He'd shucked off the numerous coats Sam had so painstakingly coaxed him into only minutes before, peeling the layers off and shoving them unceremoniously at Dean until nothing remained but his boxers.

Dean really wishes he could appreciate it. Certain parts of him are making noble attempts, but holy _shit_ is it freezing.

Cas is excited; his head is on a constant swivel and his eyes flit across the others gathered around the trio. He looks like a kid in a candy store, and the sight warns Dean's heart. Just his heart, though; the rest of him is fucking sub-zero.

It seems like they're almost ready to start when some dude with one of those enormous, puffy coats waddle-walks over and eyes them suspiciously. "I don't see a partner here, son. Who else is going with you?"

Sam frowns. "Partner?" That's when puffy-coat guy launches into an explanation about "safety " and using the "buddy system to lessen the risks of hypothermia" or some bullshit like that, and Cas visibly deflates.

Well, no one else seems to notice anything, but that whole 'profound bond' girliness apparently goes both ways because Dean can see the former angel's shoulders slump minutely at the news. Fantastic. Dean going to regret this

It's not until his fingers find the third button of his shirt that Cas even realizes that Dean has moved. The former angel's eyes widen. "Dean, you don't have to-"

"Cas, do me a favor and shut up before I change my mind." Dean interrupts, not unkindly.

Castiel claps his mouth shut, staring at Dean with an unreadable expression on his face.

Yeah, this is definitely not the context Dean pictured this scene playing out in.

Ignoring his friend, Dean strips out of the rest of his clothing and chucks the pieces in Sam's general direction. Satisfied with the muffled grunt of dismay he receives, Dean turns his attention back to the gathering crowd.

He counts at least twelve other people, several of who seem to be reaching Dean's level of regret. He's tempted to start exorcising, because seriously- no human is this crazy, but the mountain of clothing that is his brother elbows him in the side before he can open his mouth, hissing: "Don't ruin it for him."

xoxoxoxoxo

Dean doesn't ruin it for him.

When puffy coat guy blows an air horn, and they all charge towards the water like some poor front line going to its death, Dean doesn't ruin it for him.

When the cold hits him like a brick wall and sucks all the air from his lungs until he's fucking wheezing, he doesn't ruin it for him.

When every thought in his brain turns into a litany of, oh god oh god oh god, and then to, i'm dying i'm dying i'm dying, he doesn't ruin it for him.

When his feet go numb and he trips heavily into Cas, knocking them both into the water so they're completely drenched, he thinks maybe he ruined it a little bit for him.

xoxoxoxoxo

By the time they've all clambered out of the lake Dean has lost all feeling in his entire body. He thinks maybe he's dying.

He staggers drunkenly over to Sam who, bless him, is waiting for them with their coats and blankets he must've found somewhere. For once, Dean doesn't object to being manhandled by his baby bro into layers and layers of cotton and then duckwalked back to the car because _damn_ that's warm. Sam must have some A+ secret swaddling technique though, because once Dean has regained enough of his senses to realize he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life looking like a waterlogged mummy, it takes him a good minute to get his arms free.

When he glances over at Cas, he finds that the other man isn't faring much better.

Dean snorts. Then he chuckles. Then he laughs so hard he starts wheezing again and Cas looks mildly concerned but mostly like he wouldn't mind letting Dean suffocate as punishment for making fun of him.

"Oh God." Dean finally chokes out. "You look like an angry burrito."

Cas's glare magnifies to smite-y proportions, and for a moment he looks like he is seriously contemplating bumping into Dean and sending him sprawling. Dean really hopes not because the blood flow is still returning to his arms and he would prefer not to roll around on the ground until Sam returns with more blankets.

"You hardly look any better."

"Yeah, well at least I got my arms free."

Cas harrumphs and does this thing where his jaw juts out and and his eyes squint and Dean thinks he might be sulking but he really can't tell when all he can see under the piles of blankets is his head.

"You do realize that this is all your fault, right?" Dean reaches over, tugging off the coat and rearranging the blankets, and soon enough Cas's arms are free.

Cas just stands there, shivering as little ice crystals form on his eye lashes, and dons that expression he gets when he's refusing to apologize for "wanting to experience the joys of humanity."

Jesus. Ok. "Blankets: off. Now."

Cas eyes him warily, but he's drooping, and all of the fight's gone out of him. His movements are clumsy and stilted as he untangles himself from the fabric. Dean shuffles from foot to foot, having already stripped back down to his own boxers as well: "C'mon hurry up."

The moment Cas is free, Dean steps forward, his own little personal space alarms blaring but _screw them_, and tosses the dry blankets over Cas's shoulders. Instead of cinching it tight, however, he continues to loop it around his own shoulders, quickly following it up with a second layer. Cas finally seems to realize what Dean's doing, and he chuckles dryly.

"Resourceful." He moves forward until he's flush with Dean, and the hunter has to suppress a very manly squeak.

"Hey, I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

Cas snorts, dropping his head to the crook of Dean's neck. "Modest, too."

"Yeah, well." Dean wraps his arms around Cas's shoulders and tugs until they're pressed together, because Cas is radiating heat and Dean is really, really fucking cold.

Cas just sighs his sigh of the long-suffering, warm breath spilling across Dean's chest, and enacts his revenge by placing his hands, the only part of him that's still ice cold, just shy of Dean's hips.

Dean can't suppress the- still very manly- yelp this time, but Cas melts against him, smirk twitching against Dean's neck.

"If you were so opposed to getting wet, why did you even stop the car in the first place? We could have moved on."

Dean honestly thinks about this for a minute, reaches a conclusion, and then decides that yes, he _is_ chickenshit:

"First rule about Fight Club, Cas."

Cas hums, and crap Dean thinks they may have actually showed him that movie. But all the former angel says is: "Regardless. Thank you." Then he goes real quiet and still and it's actually kind of nice for a minute until-

"I cannot _believe_ you just fell asleep on me." The hunter breathes. "Un-fucking-real." Shifting their weight until they're leaning back against the Impala, Dean sighs. "I am so not dragging your lazy ass into the car."

xoxoxoxoxo

Sam has to haul both their asses into the car, wondering when he's going to stop walking in on these things.


End file.
